Cufflinks
by saketini
Summary: Canonverse, March 1951. America invites Russia up for drinks and gets his head thrown into a coffee table. Cold War Rusame with background implied USUK.


_Because a kiss with a fist is better than none._

* * *

_March 1951 ~_

The elevator ride up had been an awkward one.

"We could have just gone to a bar," he paused inside the apartment doorway and amended. "_I_ could have just gone to a bar."

"Nah, my place is better," America nudged him inside with a smile, all shiny teeth and pleasantries.

_"I like you where I can keep my eye on you," _Russia translated in his head.

"'Sides, it's like sharing. Y'all like the communal sharing stuff," America wandered away as he spoke, moving to put their coats and hats in the closet.

A few drinks had been split after the work day had ended. Several others had been with them, a supposedly casual and impromptu meeting after the Security Council had adjourned for the evening. China had left first, citing jet lag. England and France had lasted significantly longer, transitioning from after-meeting drinks to dinner itself to after-dinner drinks before England had been pulled from the bar.

England had fixed America's tie before he left, fingers threading at the knot and brushing at his throat as they looped and tugged before he pressed a parting kiss to his cheek.

_"I know the UN bit is neutral but now we're technically in New York so you're my guest. I can't have you wandering around alone around the city. Let me treat you."_

Accepting the excuse, Russia was now in America's apartment. A lovely penthouse, excessive and loud, with bright pops of color and style that begged attention like its resident.

A lowball glass filled with vodka was popped beneath his nose, supported by a tanned hand with trigger-finger calluses.

"It's one of yours," America assured him. "But I won't tell you how I got it."

America had shifted away to drop the needle down on a record. Spotting an ashtray and inviting case, Russia took a cigarette. Jazz singles twirled through the air as the other man poured something amber for himself.

Russia pulled his find down to the filter, savoring the dry burn into his throat and down his chest as he watched his host remove his suit jacket. America had apparently shirked the trend of broad-shouldered suits with loose fitting trousers. His dark charcoal three piece was well cut, single-breasted with narrow lines and a close fitting vest in complement to a shining blue tie and polished shoes. Silver cufflinks and tie pin flashed into view as he moved.

_Because you know a loose fitting, double-breasted suit would make you look like a child wearing his father's suit for play._

The cufflinks plinked against the end table as America removed them to roll up his sleeves.

"We can sit in the living room. You get a nice view of the skyline from there."

"Showing off?"

"Obviously."

…_Obviously doing this on purpose. _

He turned to smile at Russia as he led him to the other room and gestured for him to sit in one of the armchairs. America fell into his own seat beside him.

Their knees brushed together before Russia pulled his own away.

Russia was almost willing to admit the view was lovely, the lights on the buildings glittering and bright to block out the stars. America chattered about empty conversation topics and tilted his head when a response was needed. His glass flashed in place of the now gone cufflinks as he waved it around without ever actually bringing it to his lips.

"And then he said — Hey, are you listening?"

He set his free hand down on Russia's own, catching his eyes in a challenge.

"да," he tugged his own hand back to fuss with his tie.

America twitched a smile and continued, rambling on about a conversation between himself and his brother. His hands continued their pressing, however, touching at Russia's arm and down to his knee before settling down at his thigh. Russia's breathing froze.

He finished the last of the vodka and set his own glass down, taking a too deep breath through his clenched teeth to heighten the burn.

The chair shrieked protests across the floor as Russia abruptly stood to face America. Leaning over the younger man, he slammed his hands down onto the armrests to cage him in place.

"I think," he bit out tersely, "I think that you should stop now."

"Stop what, darling?"

America was grinning as he drawled out the endearment. Russia made a fist and aimed for his pretty white teeth.

He had forgotten the other still was still holding his bourbon until he felt the glass shatter across his cheekbone and alcohol burn into his eyes. Reaching out blindly, he pulled at the tie England had adjusted to tear him down to the floor with him as he fell.

_Loop, tug, twist with his hands always at your neck because he wants his tongue down your throat. _

A knee was jammed into his stomach as he landed with a shouting America on top of him. The glass had scrapped across his face and the bourbon was fire in the cuts. He yanked at the tie still in his fist and used his free hand to punch into the other's side and flip them over so America was pinned to the ground.

He forced his eyes open just in time to see America's fist fly forward to crack into his chin. Russia reeled his head back as he heard as much as felt the sickening _pop crunch_ as his jaw dislocated to the side. Apparently sensing he was disoriented, America bucked his hips to throw him off and rolled to his feet.

Russia forced his jaw back into place with his own fist before throwing an arm out to grab at the foot being kicked at his head. Grabbing firmly at his ankle, he yanked him back down to the floor. Despite pinwheeling arms, America's head connected with the glass coffee table that had been in front of them on his way down. Glass sparkled in the city lights as it was shattered and thrown upwards by the force of the fall. The carpet below soaked up red.

_We must be popular with your neighbors downstairs. _

Russia's eyes still burned. He stayed on the floor but propped himself up against the chair he had been using to wipe at his face with his sleeves.

"I told you to stop _—motherfucker!_"

A sharp pain seared up his leg as America jammed a large shard of glass through his pant leg and into his shin to claw to the bone. Feeling the other begin to drag and twist the improvised blade further into his muscle, Russia flailed out with his hands to punch at his head, missing his teeth but connecting firmly with his nose and clawing nails through the cuts from the impact with the table.

He wasn't sure if his screams were coherent in any language at that point.

America gasped and let go of his weapon in favor of clutching at his face. Russia took the chance to stumble back to his feet, leaving the glass in his leg rather than worsen the wound. Not wanting to be at a disadvantage, the other bolted upright as well and jumped further back out of reach. He wasn't grinning now, but was bearing his teeth in an angry snarled twist. Blood was running down from his hairline into his eyes and from his nose into his mouth. It glittered red on his teeth.

Russia wondered idly how it would taste.

He froze his own expression into an impassive stare, willing America not to notice that he had shifted his weight to his uninjured leg.

America laughed, "'Motherfucker,' huh? And England says _I'm _a shitty guest when he invites me up for drinks."

Russia didn't care to think too hard about that statement or about where his anger was coming from at that point. He just knew everything in him was screaming.

He lunged, catching America in the stomach and forcing the air out of his lungs as he slammed him back into the floor. America thrust his body back into him, forcing them into a roll. Glass tinged and tinkled musically on the floor as they twisted through the mess, slashing through their shirts to dig at their skin.

The glass in his leg snapped into the carpet, leaving shards imbedded into the flesh. Russia noted absently that they would need to be pulled out later. Hopefully, that later would be when _fucking Red _wasn't being hissed into his throat while nails dug into his scalp and knees jammed into his sides.

Teeth bit into his neck and he shouted in surprise and loosened his grip, allowing America to unravel himself and sprint from the room. Russia staggered to his own feet more slowly, pulling his handkerchief from his pocket to knot it around his leg. He was fairly certain his neck was bleeding and staining into his scarf and collar. His hands were smeared red. His vision, however, was almost back to normal.

A door slammed down the hall.

"Hmm," he hummed lightly as he smiled. "The bedroom then, friend?"

Russia marched down the hall, finding the closed room where he assumed America had run. Figuring that checking to see if it was locked would only give the other a warning that he was coming, he slammed his fist down into the knob to break it off the door and rammed down the barrier with his shoulder.

He barely had enough time to duck before America was able to swing a lamp into his head. The missed swing apparently had him losing his balance and Russia took the chance to grab him at his shoulders. Shoving violently, he pinned him against the wall with a knee to his stomach to disarm him. The lamp clattered to the floor with a bang. Russia shot out his left forearm to jam it against the other's throat as he used his right to pin his wrists above his head. America's eyes widened in something between horror and anger as he tried to pull in a breath but found he couldn't. Russia leaned in closer and smiled.

"I may not be a perfect guest, but you make a terrible host, Америка."

The other frowned but couldn't reply without air. Russia noted that he had removed his tie and unbuttoned his collar. His face was flushed and lips parted softly as he tried to breathe and the glasses he always wore had been removed in favor of hiding them someplace safe. He didn't attempt to move, apparently waiting for Russia to decide what to do next. Russia felt the pulse in the wrists trapped beneath his hand jump.

_How does it taste?_

He leaned in, licking along exposed teeth and warm swollen lips. Too warm. America tasted first of metallic blood and hot biting bourbon, but something else hid beneath it that made Russia press in tighter.

"Soft," he exhaled into a breathless mouth.

The other slid his tongue against his own and Russia realized he tasted oddly, strangely, wonderfully sweet.

He seized up in horror as he realized what he was doing, pausing just long enough for America to thrash out. A leg snapped out to dig a heel into the open wound on his leg. He groaned as he felt the skin tear further apart beneath the fabric of his trousers. A knee was forced between them into the space under his ribs and he fell to his knees with a wheeze. This time, he didn't move fast enough to grab at America's foot before it cracked into the side of his head. America was gasping and coughing above him and floundering in the drawer of his nightstand as he grabbed at his throbbing skull.

_Too much?_

He heard a _click_ over the other's breathing and looked up at a pistol pointed between his eyes, manual safety disengaged.

"My turn to say," his voice was thready and rough, "I think that you should stop now."

Russia blinked slowly and met the other's eyes, noticing his pupils were so dilated that the blue was barely visible. The blood on his face had stopped running and was beginning to dry in cracked patterns across his cheeks. He was still flushed.

_If you had your gun here, why didn't you just shoot me through the door?_

He nodded firmly and worked slowly to his feet, ignoring the pain in his leg as he forced himself to stand evenly before turning. Passing through the door and down the hall, he knew the other wouldn't escort him but could feel the gun still pointed at his back.

Russia grabbed his coat from the closet and decided he could appreciate the long elevator ride down to the lobby as he left.

* * *

_March 1951 because of the Korean War escalations and the Rosenberg Trial. America was a twitchy, gun-toting, paranoid mess. _ _The whole post-UN Security Council meeting thing is kinda fudged for historical reasons with China's and Russia's involvement because of various boycotts and issues on which government was going to be recognized as the actual government of China but ugh, blah blah blah canonverse is hard and I'm lame and I'm sorry so just go with it._


End file.
